


The Space Between

by Adariall



Series: 10 Hurt/Comfort [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Hospital, Hurt/Comfort, Illness, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-07
Updated: 2010-04-07
Packaged: 2017-10-08 18:36:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/78377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adariall/pseuds/Adariall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes normal can be a hell of a lot more scary than the supernatural, and that's not something Dean's prepared to deal with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Space Between

Rolling himself around the hospital corridors in his commandeered wheelchair, Sam attempted to hunt his brother down. Yes, he wasn't exactly supposed to be up and about on his own, but Dean hadn't exactly left him a choice. He could have attempted to call Dean, but when it came right down to it, there was no way that plan could have worked. He knew Dean didn't exactly adhere to hospital policy regarding cellular phones, but his own was dead due to a total lack of access to his charger, and it wasn't as if he could use the hospital phone either. Long distance phone calls were only able to be made via collect call, and cell phones couldn't handle collect calls. From any way he tried to look at it, it really was a no win situation. So when it came down to it, getting out there was really the only option he had.

From his own room up on the third floor, he set out a very basic search pattern, one which began at sublevel one. It was a small hospital, so luckily it wasn't that large to begin with and the layout was basically the same as in any of the other hospitals that they had broken into. So armed with a limited window of opportunity, one which was static and never changed thanks to the medication he had been placed on, he set out, determined to find Dean before his fever became an issue once more and he was forced back to bed.

The basement was difficult to navigate at first, due to the number of personnel who seemed to think that it was the perfect place to hide from their superiors, but he didn't have to wait all that long to begin in search in earnest. The morgue was a bust as were the various storage rooms. Moving up to the first floor, he very quickly declared that the gift shop and cafeteria were clear, although he narrowly avoided a run in with his respirologist on the elevator up to the second floor. Only a quick trigger finger on the clumsily marked door close button had saved him from the awkwardness of having to explain his current predicament, and he was grateful to have avoided that encounter.

With each floor he searched, he inevitably came to the same conclusion; Dean was not there, nor had he been there. In a bout of paranoia he even rolled himself up to the wide picture window overlooking the small parking lot from the surgical waiting room. To his relief, the Impala was still there, but that still meant that Dean was somewhere within the hospital itself, or at least in the general vicinity.

By the time he reached the fifth floor, he was beginning to think that somehow he had missed Dean. Maybe they had been in opposing elevators, and had gone past each other, on their way from one floor to another. But when it came down to it, he couldn't start his search all over again. While his pneumonia was almost entirely cleared up, he still tired easily and wheeling himself around six different floors, even if it was in a blink and you'll miss it hospital, was more than enough to make him long for his lumpy yet serviceable hospital bed.

"Damnit, Dean," he muttered, frustrated. "Where the hell are you?" Giving himself one last shove, he rolled into the empty staircase at the end of the corridor. It was quiet there as very few people seemed to use the stairs, and it gave him room to think. He listened hard to the silence, almost enjoying the entirely normal quality it held, nothing dark or sinister lurking underneath. But then he froze, something in the distance catching his attention. Keeping still, he strained his ears as he attempted to catch the sound once more. His patience was rewarded when several moments later he heart it again; a faint scuffling that seemed to be coming from somewhere above him. The roof. Sitting back hard in his chair, Sam resisted the urge to kick himself. Of course, Dean would be on the roof. He knew that Sam was still stuck in his chair for the most part, so if he were to hide on the roof, he would more than likely be left alone.

Pressing his lips together tightly, Sam locked his brakes into place. Dean was sadly mistaken if he thought that he could avoid a confrontation that easily. Grabbing the railing tightly in one hand, he pulled himself up in one smooth motion. There was only one flight of stairs he had to climb, so that made things a bit easier, but he had no illusions about the situation. It was still going to be hard, especially when crossing the room under his own steam was still a struggle.

In the end, it took him a bit longer than he had anticipated to complete the climb, but at the same time, his chest was nowhere near as bad as he'd thought it might be. Apparently with pneumonia there really was something to be said for slow and steady. Letting out a soft snort at the thought, a motion which he quickly realized was a stupid move after he nearly sent himself off into another coughing fit, he approached the door cautiously. The last thing he wanted to do was to startle Dean into falling off the roof or something, yet at the same time, the distinctive urge to throttle his brother remained. He suspected it would pass, but if it didn't could always throw something at his head later on.

Reaching out, he grabbed the door handle and shoved at it sharply. He felt it give quickly into the motion but he stopped it before it could slam all the way open. Taking a tight breath, he stuck his head out the door and sure enough there was Dean. With exaggerated caution he stepped over the raised stoop and out onto the plywood path that lead out to what he suspected was the elevator machine room. Each step he took was deliberately thought out to make as little noise as possible, and it seemed that he was successful in keeping himself from alerting Dean to his presence prematurely.

He was within striking distance when Dean shifted and began to turn around. His planning hadn't exactly extended that far, but he could figure something out. He was good at that. Before Dean could move any further, he cleared his throat softly.

"Dean." Voice pitched low, he pulled his hospital gown a little closer as he attempted to figure out what to do with his hands. He watched as his brother turned quickly on his heel, cigarette falling from between suddenly loose fingers.

"Sammy?" Eyes wide, Dean took a step forward. "What the hell are you doing up here? Why are you out of bed?"

Sam could tell the exact moment he lost control of the situation, but Dean was not going to be able to distract him that easily. He was not going to be let off the hook. "I was looking for you." He explained simply. "You went out for coffee almost three hours ago, Dean, and then you just disappeared. I have been all over this damn hospital looking for you and no one has seen a damn thing."

"Unlike you, I'm fine, Sam." Digging his foot into the gravel, Dean put out what was left of the cigarette he had been holding before stepping forward to grab Sam's arm. "We're going back inside. Now."

Pulling back, Sam glared at Dean mulishly. "I'm not going anywhere until you tell me what the hell is going on with you."

"Fine. Inside."

"Fuck you, no." Voice higher than he would have liked, Sam stood his ground. "We go through that door and you won't tell me a damn thing, so I am not moving from here until we have this discussion."

Silence descended between them, Dean's grip tightening slightly and then his hand dropped away completely. Sam watched as he shrugged out of his jacket, and before he could say a word, it was draped over his shoulders.

"You were shaking," Dean muttered quietly, catching Sam's incredulous expression.

After several moments, Sam nodded his head. "Thank you." Staring at the still damp plywood, he forced himself to focus on his breathing. The humidity was beginning to wear on his lungs, and the last thing he needed was to pass out in front of Dean because he hadn't taken care of himself. When he finally was comfortable enough to speak again, he scuffed the edge of his sneaker against the boards.

"Dean, please. I'm in the dark here. Let me know what's going on inside your head."

"You almost died." Jamming his hands into his pockets, Dean closed his eyes tightly. "You almost died because some cold you caught from some little kid decided to go to your lungs and mutated into some fucked up infection and I didn't realize it until it was almost too late."

"I know." Sam's eyes softened slightly. "But there is nothing that you or I could have done to have prevented it."

Throwing his hands up into the air with a frustrated shout, Dean drew closer to Sam until there was no space left between them. "That's the damn problem. I can rescue your ass from vampires or a stupid fucking curse, but then a cold comes in and just about kills you? There is nothing about that, absolutely nothing, that makes any sense to me at all."

Shaking his head, Sam slid his hands up to rest against Dean's chest. "It's not supposed to make sense. It isn't something you can fight with a little salt or some Latin incantation. It's life, Dean. Regular old everyday life, and it goes on around us all the time. We're not immune from it just because we deal in demons and spirits." Pressing even closer to his brother's warmth, Sam ducked his head and brushed his lips against Dean's. "I'm still here. You've still got me, and that's what matters. And I promise you, so long as I have strength left in my body I will fight to stay with you, be it against another bout of mutant pneumonia or something associated with our line of work." Pressing their foreheads together, they remained frozen in a silent tableau until the tremors in Sam's hands became too much to ignore. Right on time, his fever was back with a vengeance and there wasn't anything he could do to stop the interruption.

"Come on, Sasquatch," taking his queue, Dean broke the silence as he reached out and grabbed the collar of his jacket. "Sharing and caring time is over. We're getting you back to bed now."

"Jerk." Sam murmured, knowing that it was probably as much acknowledgement as he'd ever get.

"Bitch." Dean's voice was lighter than it had been as he guided Sam back through the door and into the building.

Sam wasn't an idiot, he knew that not everything had been resolved, not in the slightest, but he could wait. For Dean, he could always wait.

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Fever


End file.
